


Overwatch Drabbles

by FolkPunkDruid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:33:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FolkPunkDruid/pseuds/FolkPunkDruid
Summary: A bunch of drabbles for ideas I have that aren't big enough to make full-fledged fics out of. Usually just a scene I think is cool and want to write. You can use them for inspiration, if you give credit!These are completely unedited, nor do I have any intention to edit them.NOTE: Character's names with & in the middle are platonic, / is romantic.





	1. Dancing With the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Ch 1: Symmetra/Sombra - Dancing With the Stars  
> Ch 2: Roadhog & Junkrat - Bounty  
> Ch 3: Zenyatta & Junkrat - Sentience

"Dance with me?”

Sombra’s pink-nailed hand was extended. A small smirk graced her face.

After a moment of hesitation, Satya placed her synthetic hand in Sombra’s. Almost instantly, the hacker swept their arms up and began swaying in a ballroom-esque dance. She twirled the architect, standing on her metal-capped toes to reach the proper height. 

Satya found herself swept up in their rooftop dance. Her prosthetic had slipped from Sombra’s grip, and now moved in graceful patterns with her own movement. Small starbursts and galaxies made of blue light fizzled out of the generator in her palm, dissipating into nothing when they weren’t given proper form.

The swirls of blue light surrounded them as they spun and danced on the city skyline. 

Sombra drew Satya closer, pulling her by both wrists to kiss her firmly. 

Tiny quasars and supernovae made of light cocooned around them. Sombra’s lips tasted of milk chocolate and cinnamon and peppermints. She reached a hand up into Satya’s hair, threading her fingers through the straight dark strands to hold the back of the architect’s head. 

Satya felt herself melting into the kiss, placing her hands on Sombra’s shoulders. As they parted, she opened her eyes to see Sombra with a small grin on her face. She gave that little wave of hers, then faded into the background. 

Satya brought a hand to her lips, touching them gently as Sombra stole away invisibly.


	2. Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an older one written to take a break from Letters, my Roadrat fanfic. 
> 
> GORE warning. If gore upsets you, please don't read this chapter.

One, two, three, four, five. Bounty hunters and greedy scavvers surrounded Junkrat, closing in on him, weapons drawn. 

_‘Shit, let’s see. They've got a lotta weapons, close and long range. They outnumber me, and I'm missin' an arm. I’m fucked, ain't I? This is it.'_

He tensed, ready to leap to action, when a huge, metallic hook wrapped around one of his assailant’s midsections. The bounty hunter was jerked back violently, screaming out in surprise. 

A huge fist met her face, the spiked knuckles leaving bleeding gashes around her mouth and nose. Blood spilled from a cut in her lip and one of her nostrils. One of her eyes was already swelling and darkening. 

She screamed in fear as the mysterious attacker punched out at her neck, the hook in their hand poised to rip and tear at the delicate flesh. Her throat easily tore open, blood pooling out and onto the ground. She blubbered, trying to choke out words through the thick blood filling her voicebox as she was dropped roughly to the ground.

The rest of Junkrat’s attackers looked at the mysterious person in various states of shock or outrage. One of them flew at their fellow’s murderer, knives at the ready and moving surprisingly fast despite the thick metal armour covering them.

They yelled in fury, only to be cut short by a huge hand wrapping around their shoulder and another around their head. A sickening crunch and a broken neck later, they were lying on the floor, twitching and with a look of complete fear on their face.

The huge masked man growled, cracking his knuckles. “Who’s next?”

They all fled. No one wanted to face off with this masked maurauder, it seemed. 

"Y'saved me hide there. Thanks, mate."

He snarled. "I'm handing you in. Good bounty on your head."

_'Shit. This guy could murder me easily. I dunno if I can fight my way out of this.'_

Growling, Junkrat darted to the side, dashing behind a huge tower of scrap. Loud, menacing footsteps approached him as he lobbed grenades over the shelter of the scrap metal. Explosions rang out as they impacted the earth, and a grunt of pain met his ears.

He grinned, shooting off a few more rounds as he darted over to another bit of cover. This time no wet thuds or angered grunts met his ears. He must have gone around the other way, but-

Junkrat flinched the moment the masked man picked him up from under his arms. "No, no wait! They want me for me treasure. It's worth more than the stupid bounty. I'll split it with ya, fifty-fifty," he yammered, words spilling from his sharp-toothed mouth as he panicked. His arm flailed. "Why d'ya think I have a bounty on me head?"

That stopped his assailant. He cocked his head to the side, seemingly thinking about it for a few moments. After a horrifying, panicked stretch of time, Junkrat was glad to be put down. "Deal," he rumbeld, holding out a huge paw to shake.

Junkrat stared at the hand for a moment. Giving a sigh, the huge man took the blonde's hand in his. The huge fist dwarfed his as he shook heartily. "Name's Roadhog."

"Uh... Junkrat. Jamison Junkrat Fawkes."


	3. Sentience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenyatta and Junkrat discuss life and death

Zenyatta sighed contentedly.

“Didn’t know bots could sigh, mate. Y’alright?” Junkrat glanced up at the omnic from his spot in the grass. The two of them laid in a meadow, enjoying the nature and lying in the grass while watching the skies and talking.

The omnic gave a tiny half-chuckle. Jamison had made a huge leap in his tolerance of the omnics. It was understandable that he didn’t like them, after all the entire world was affected by the Omnic Crisis. Especially Australia.

Zenyatta was proud of him. He’d made an effort to move past the prejudices he had grown up with.

“I am quite alright, but thank you for asking, Jamison. I am simply content.” His serene voice answered. They were silent for some time, just enjoying the beautiful day so different from their homelands.

Omnics were different from humans. On a physical level, at least. Mentally, there was no difference between the complexity of post-war omnic motherboards and the intricacies of the human brain. Even some wartime motherboards and memory systems combined were advanced enough to allow an omnic to develop sentience. BA-54 had developed enough to befriend a bird and defy their murderous programming.

“’Ey Terk?”

The mechanical man rolled his head to the side, tilting his face sensors towards his friend curiously. “Yes?”

“If we’re really the same deep down, then where do bots go when ya die? D’you go where we go, or do you just disappear forever? You’re all artificial, wouldn’t you just stop existing when ya hardware breaks, or…?”

That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. “An excellent question, my friend,” he replied, unsure how to answer. “I suppose… Humans aren’t sure of what happens to them when they die. Hypothetically, if there is an afterlife, I suppose the omnics would be there, too. Souls are simply a product of the human imagination searching for reason, but perhaps there is weight to the idea.”

“Our consciousness must go somewhere when we pass. Scientifically, it should fade when we die. Both for human and omnic, but perhaps it remains in some form.”

They both fell silent as Junkrat thought over the answer.

“I was created after the war. I will be part of the first generation of fully sentient, longlived omnics. Normally machinery breaks down more quickly and is replaced afterwards, but I will have a normal human lifespan if I keep myself in good repair.” He raised a metal hand over his face, rubbing a palm with his other thumb. He traced the grooves in his hand, examining them. So like the tendon and bone of a real human hand. “I am already 28. That is so, so old. What will I be like when I am middle aged?”

Junkrat chuckled. “Don’t worry mate. Look at Roadhog. He’s an big old lug and he’s doin’ fine.”

“I suppose,” Zenyatta chuckled. “How is he, by the way?”

A huge goofy grin spread over Junkrat’s face. “He’s doin’ great!” He began to babble on about how he was as Zenyatta relaxed into the grass.

Synthetic skin may not exist yet, but he was content imagining the feel of grass against his body.


End file.
